


Brave New World

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Body Language, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Contact, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, Heart-to-Heart, Hidden Depths, Hopeful Ending, Injury, Inspired by Art, Kissing, M/M, Museums, On the Run, Sharing Body Heat, Story within a Story, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: “If I saw you every day, forever, I would remember this.”Such words came from theHannibal Lecterthat eased gently in his seat, a brush of his silvery fringe when Viktor tilted his head, ever-so slightly. Sitting next to him, a dull rupture drummed from those nimble fingers, Yuuri rocked gently in his seat as he observed a painting in front of him. A melodic rhythm danced over the edge of his chin, and Yuuri sat as if he didn’t hear the words that eloquently graced the curve of Viktor’s lips.If there was a God--and if He, indeed, was watching--was this moment of His design, or did Viktor rewrite the stars?





	Brave New World

**Author's Note:**

> As part of my 1k follower celebration on Tumblr, I made this little fic to show my gratitude. In some ways, this is a personal anecdote of my experience in the YoI fandom and how I feel about it now. And...this is just an excuse to write in my default, flowery writing style.
> 
> [ Audio for the oneshot ](https://yuuris-piano.tumblr.com/post/173816956251/style-piano-violin-duet-self-discovery)

A million miles was how far Yuuri was from being free, but he couldn’t help but stop and observe some of the world’s greatest masterpieces. Slumped with every step, fingers trailing a telltale mark across the ceramic folds of the walls, Yuuri happened to turn his head. There were a set of doors, unlocked in the art gallery, and no one was on the other side. He pushed one of the pair back with his shoulder, little bit at a time. The creak from the copper hinges dulled that static in his mind when Yuuri watched the art watch him when he spilled into this sanctuary.

Judgment, from people that never existed. From oiled caricatures and torso-less minds, following Yuuri’s every step before he settled over a wooden bench. Caught himself, just before a cough ruptured from his lungs. Yuuri doubled-down, elbows propped against his kneecaps with every beat that his lungs drummed out. Until this arch of his body pressed more pain than Yuuri could bear, and he straightened up. A curve to his back when he propped on his own being. The scorch of his scar, crescent along his side, burned so quietly that Yuuri almost forgot that it existed.

For pain was a spectrum and Yuuri had been so used to it that it didn’t bother him as much as it had done before. Able to move on, and now he had different pains to shoulder for quite a bit before they, too, would fade into a mere moment than a state.

Mind over the body. Yuuri breathed steadily, a sharp whistle with every intake of breath. It got annoying, it was bothersome, but Yuuri settled on a sort of peace that kept him two steps from insanity. Enough, where he felt safe and a numbness crawled from that dark disassociate between the mind and heart. To where Yuuri’s body laxed, quicker than falling asleep.

If he could close his eyes, he felt the weight of the world through a paintbrush. Funny, how a thought like this became the barrel lodged to the back of Yuuri’s head when he scanned his surroundings once more. Eyelids heavy with every blink before darkness swallowed him with a simple knick of the trigger. Instead of his own blood, down came the colors from his imagination.

Blotches of red, trickling down from the fragmented cuts of a gaping hole. Blue sloshed, as if it carried flour, and left behind a sticky residue that crawled down the framework of Yuuri’s mind. Spreading like an infestation, looping around pillaring structures of rationality and patching over scars that used to stir Yuuri in the night. Last came the yellow and it was as vibrant as anything that could dwell in Yuuri’s mind before someone turned out the lights.

Because standing before him in this little mindspace _ \--his Room 19-- _ was a canvas and an easel. A paint palette over his hand, blossomed there as Yuuri swirled his fingers across his colors and dabbed fingerprints along a beige face. He could’ve been  _ Picasso  _ or illustrated a  _ Starry Night  _ for his eyes to marvel. Instead, he found chaos in his creation.

How in the end, every color drooped down the canvas’ face and created brown. Arched upwards along the sides, as if it had fallen from a great height. Even then, Yuuri’s fingers stenciled new designs and curved his colors to where they needed to be. Brown was his base, and he mixed in a green for growth or for envy. He wasn’t sure, but Yuuri worked it in. Until his glasses slipped and crashed into the oblivion beneath his feet when he reached for his palette to replenish his colors. Darkness was the blur before a world emerged and peeled itself from the confines of the canvas. Swirling into a great expanse until a pair of colossal arms broke from the ground beneath Yuuri’s feet. Fracturing the fragile space as a giant lifted the world upon its shoulders.

Bronze shone back into Yuuri’s eyes when he slipped his glasses back on, and he could make-out the copper trail of tears that had flowed down from the giant’s face. Once.

Its only form of expression when its face was chiseled into a perpetual frown since the dawn of time. Cracks along its limbs when it molded into its preferred position and bolted into place. Locked, with no key to compel it to move, and Yuuri’s eyelashes fluttered against his skin when he opened his eyes once more. A smile curved over the fault line of his lips.

Staring back at him, like a reflection to his mind, was  _ Il Mondo.  _ Travesty of the world, burdened over two arms and shoulders as a giant looked upwards under the weight of its crime. The world was humanity's crime, one bullet at a time. The blacks and whites of ideologies conflicted for thousand years of years since the dawn of Man, and people still weren’t used to seeing shadows behind their backs. Determined to squish out the darkness that lingered in every heart, but such a feat was pointless when it took darker means to get there.

Much as how the innocent were proven guilty, and the guilty walked free because of a sensible justice. Yuuri rolled his neck around in a circle, creasing the cracks and pops that stiffened him. Occasionally, he leaned too far into one direction and a whistle escaped between his teeth. Pain, the rippling effect, numbing him down to the chest. Chipped at the tinkering heart that tried so hard, and Yuuri nudged a scraped hand and knuckle over the space to quell it to peace. His tongue parted between its home behind his lips and licked a fleck of blood that lingered far from one of his cheeks.

A flesh wound. Perhaps, this blood wasn’t his own in the past incursion. Whichever the case, the blood satisfied a hunger that crooned next to his ear and Yuuri reminded himself that he had bruised ribs and a case report to file if he could make it back to headquarters. But alone like this, surrounded by art in a deserted corner of a museum, this healed Yuuri more than a band-aid would.

Yes, he ached. Yes, it was hard to move without hissing. Yes, he could probably close his eyes again and pass-out for security to find him. Even so, Yuuri didn’t want to go back to headquarters. To feel the weight of a badge and gun in his hands again, to bow to the pseudo-justice he was meant to serve, or to pretend that he was a hero when there was simply gray. Splashed in between this conundrum between a black and white morality because there was so much more.

His hands were balled into fists, and Yuuri didn’t realize that he wasn’t alone until he felt a warmth. Nestled over the crook of his shoulder as a cheek nuzzled against him and purred softly into his ear. A flop of bangs tickling the edge of his neck as bright, teal eyes gazed up at him as if Yuuri was a work of art. Not to be touched, but Viktor couldn’t help it. Almost couldn’t find Yuuri when he passed by this little gallery area, noting how his affection blended with these masterpieces because he was one in Viktor’s eyes.

Carved from flesh and bone, wired over a sturdy frame, and adorned with a love that clung to Yuuri’s sleeves. Just like this, within this proximity, a heart found another.

“I burned so long and quiet, you must have wondered if I loved you back.” Yuuri rested his head gently against Viktor’s. Both supported the other, like a jigsaw puzzle that was now complete.

Somewhere along the way, Viktor wrapped bandage sheets around Yuuri’s knuckles before he kissed them. A sweet medicine for a fair recovery, and Yuuri mused that he could have more than one kiss if Viktor wanted to kill him with this love.

How would Viktor do it? Curiosity did more than entice a bird like Yuuri’s breed, and he tilted his head when Viktor pressed a lingering kiss near his lips. Close enough to count as a technical, but when was close-enough actual than what it really was? So in his own retaliation, Yuuri leaned forward just a bit and peppered a kiss that was fleeting at first until the gesture grew into a massage that eased the tension locked beneath Viktor’s skin. How Viktor sat motionless, breathing with the flick of a tempo as Yuuri mapped him with his lips. Until his lips hovered over Viktor’s before Yuuri pulled away. To say that disappointment wasn’t apparent on Viktor’s face was a lie, and Viktor had once heard the saying that no one could really lie if someone understood to the equivalent degree of chaos. Perhaps, it’d explained why Viktor turned his head away, glanced elsewhere as flush crept up the back of his neck.

When he spoke, it came from the heart. No scripts prewritten. No build-up to the before and after of his phrase. Pure, genuine affection bloomed in a place that no one thought would exist, but Viktor had a way of making the impossible possible if he could relive a single moment again for the rest of his life.

“You’re a candle that forgot its spark,” Viktor said. His fingers trembled somewhat over his lap. Pondered a thought that swelled from the back of Yuuri’s mind:  _ was this a confession of passion, or something more?  _ Noticing the bit of attention, Viktor loosened his shoulders when he pulled away from Yuuri’s touch. Supported himself like an old man, destined to rock in front of a southern porch with a glass of lemonade to quench the thirst. “But so, I cherish you as much as certain dark things are meant to be loved.”

Viktor’s gaze swayed towards a lofty portrait to his right. Wherein, dotted by the multitude of a thousand brushes, fleshed the silver and black of a stag and crow. A haunting comparison that appeared whenever Viktor and Yuuri were within each other’s reach. It was a sign, marked by a puppeteer that controlled and tangled their strings until one couldn’t pull away without the other following to some degree.

Such an existence used to frighten Viktor until he took his first steps and noticed how everyone was broken _ \--to a degree equivalent or more to others than one would expect from a simple glance.  _ Even he, Viktor, figured that the golden idols and pantheons for the greats were mere pedestals that erased that human-quality. Blanketed over the similarities and bolded the differences between people because they captivated the gaze more. Perhaps, just observing how Yuuri performed oppositely to many of Viktor’s expectations drew him in. It was a difference that gave their similarities a chance to mingle, to grow in an affectionate garden that one wouldn’t expect a detective and a serial killer to meet each other. Eye to eye, as equals, in this strange odyssey called  _ Life. _

When Viktor reeled his attention back to Yuuri, luring the other in with a half-filtered smile, Viktor brushed Yuuri’s bangs to the side. Peeling back the curtains that hid the truth of Yuuri’s heart, and Viktor saw himself reflected in those beautiful eyes.

“I suppose there’s nothing more beautiful than someone who has lost everything, but still maintains their tender heart.” One of his finger caressed down the line of Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri closed his eyes to the touch. To that crooked line that delicately traced his fractures, and to that quiet question that became the first stutter that Yuuri had ever heard from Viktor. Once Viktor felt Yuuri’s response with how their fingers met across the small expanse of the wooden bench, he lowered his head just a bit and pressed a kiss.

It was hard to pinpoint when a touch like first bridged them, but Viktor was sure that it was no better than this moment, here. Simply, because he and Yuuri had reached an understanding that their younger-counterparts could only grasp at before the tension became too much of a burden to bear alone. When the slow dance and rhythm of a tender love reached its climax, Yuuri slipped out from the kiss. Perhaps to breathe, perhaps to steady the heat flushed from his heart, and perhaps to remind himself that he was supposed to keep Viktor on his toes.

“I guess I’m not much of a detective,” Yuuri whispered, distracting himself with an art that didn’t remind him of Viktor. Trying to comprehend how on earth a serial killer could fall for him.

Was it the grime splattered across his glasses? Was it the game of cat-and-mouse that enthralled him and Viktor more than the consequences? Or perhaps, it was the slight mutiny on Yuuri’s part when he did what he could so that Viktor would live. So that Viktor was here, safe and sound, in a place where there was no light when darkness dressed their wounds.

“You’re more than that.” Viktor adjusted how he sat, easing pressure off of the wounds inflicted against his sides. Looked to Yuuri for support and Yuuri made room on his shoulder for Viktor to lean against. There was no need to elaborate when mere action could convey all the truth, alone, and Viktor would have to reincarnate back into a young man by the time he was through with all his reasons. Simply, because Yuuri encompassed a lifetime that Viktor hadn’t lived through, just yet. “If I saw you every day, forever, I would remember this.”

Such words came from the  _ Hannibal Lecter  _ that eased gently in his seat, a brush of his silvery fringe when Viktor tilted his head, ever-so slightly. From the corner of his eye, he could see the light drum of Yuuri’s fingers when he tapped them along his chin. The melodic rhythm danced to a song that serenaded Viktor’s remark, almost sounded like a marriage proposal if Yuuri cared to think that far. If a wedding was even appropriate for two figures, on the opposite faces of a coin. Even so, Viktor would find a way to make it work.

If there was a God _ \--and if He, indeed, was watching in this tiny space of a gallery-- _ was this moment of His design, or did Viktor rewrite the stars so that they would lead him back to the sun? Just as a flower flourished under a benevolent light, Viktor flourished when he reached across the small distance between him and Yuuri. Curled his fingers around Yuuri’s in this eternal embrace.

They could run and live the life they wanted, where pseudo-justice couldn’t touch them and where freedom was as sweet as waking up and finding the other within an arm’s reach. Yuuri remembered that there was a time that he agreed to this little game of deception. To merely seduce and lure Viktor’s true colors out from his knitted seams. And yet, here, Yuuri realized he had fallen too quickly into Viktor’s embrace and didn’t want to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is sort of related to my fic, [ Entropy to the Smallest Degree,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14597550/chapters/33737670) which will eventually lead up to where this oneshot is.


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